


Always, Always

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlolly Monthly Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: June ‘19 monthly sherlolly prompt- What if Molly Hooper hadn’t helped Sherlock fake his death? What would things be like for them, two years later when he finally turned up alive?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one has sucked me in lol. As stated in the tags, the prompt specified angst...and I have answered the call. XD

“I’m beginning to regret not rinsing you off first,” Mycroft said with a disgusted sniff as they settled into his private jet. 

“Oh I don’t know,” Sherlock replied with a little flip of his matted hair. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

“Yes, I imagine plenty of things are,” Mycroft muttered. 

Soon after, Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well?”

Mycroft frowned. “Well what?”

“The dossiers. I’ll need them now.”

Mycroft shifted a little nervously. 

“Perhaps once we’ve got back to London-“

“I prefer them now,” Sherlock insisted.

With a sigh of hesitance, Mycroft got up to rummage around in his bag above their seats, finally producing a stack of files which he set in his brother’s lap.

“Dear God,” Sherlock almost instantly commented, opening John’s file. “This is what happens when I’m away? Pff, that’ll have to go, I’m not being seen with him like that.”

A few more moments passed as he flipped through the rest of John’s file, and then moved on to the others. He got to the end of the last one and frowned, flipping through the pile one more time before looking across at his brother again.

“One is missing.”

Mycroft’s brow lifted. “Sorry?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the idiot, it’s a stretch, even for you. Now where is the fourth file?”

They held eye contact for a breath while Mycroft clearly weighed his options. But finally, he gave in once again, standing to fish out one more file which he reluctantly handed over.

Sherlock whipped it open, his eyes darting up and down, paging through what the file contained. A few minutes of silence passed by as he thoroughly absorbed the contents. Then he closed it, setting it atop the other three in his lap, and smiled at his brother.

“Well, fortunate I had a look before takeoff. It seems we’ll be needing to make a brief stop in...Zurich.”

Mycroft’s eyes went wide. “Sherlock, I took the trouble to fetch you due to a matter of national security! This is no time for games!”

“Exactly,” he replied calmly, leaning back in the luxurious seat. “I’ll need all hands on deck, won’t I?”

Mycroft clenched his jaw in frustration, then decided to try for a different tactic to change Sherlock’s stubborn mind.

“Besides, you’re an absolute  _ mess _ . I imagine a wash up would be an order before this sort of... personal call.” 

Sherlock straightened up with a slight wince of his cracked ribs, glancing down at his ragged clothes, mass of unkempt hair, and lack of general hygiene. Then he smirked at his brother.

“Actually, that won’t be necessary. I think I’ll wash up when I get there.”

* * *

“Danke, gute nachte,” Molly said to the cab driver as she exited the vehicle and went to the door of her building.

She balanced her bag, a bag of groceries, and the keys to get in with the skills she’d developed in all her years of living in London as well as her relatively short time in Zurich. In fact, she was beginning to feel that this was a lot more like home.

Molly backed her way into her flat, kicked the door closed again, then set the bags down, sighing with relief as she shrugged her winter coat off. 

“Toby, mummy’s home!” she called as she pulled his food out of the grocery bag, expecting the pitter patter of his little paws to come running excitedly for dinner.

Just as Molly was thinking how strange the unusual silence was, given the time of day and Toby’s hunger, she heard something incredibly unexpected. She very distinctly heard the bathroom tap running.

In an instant, her heart was in her throat. She’d felt so safe and comfortable since moving here, so this shocked her as much as frightened her. 

After reaching a shaky hand into her bag and grabbing her mobile, she dialed 999 and kept her finger poised to hit the call button. 

“Hello!” She made her way down the hall and into her bedroom, seeing light underneath the door to the bathroom. “I’m calling the- Ich rufe die Polizei!”

Just then the water shut off and the door swung open, producing a scream from her lungs that was loud enough to wake the entire building. 

But there was no mistaking him. No, the second her eyes made contact with his she wasn’t confused. Even in the state he was in- hair long and wet, face covered in shaving cream, and standing there wearing an ill fitting dressing gown of hers. 

Sherlock held the razor in his hand, staring at her wide eyed.

“I er...estimated that you’d be home in about fifteen minutes, given the need for groceries,” he finally stammered out. 

Her jaw still hung on the floor. She didn’t know what to do…scream again, slap him, embrace him. What exactly did he expect her to do?

“Sherlock- you-!” Molly finally yelled. “You’re alive!” 

He cleared his throat. “Yes well, you see, it was all very complicated and top secret, but yes the main point is...I’m not dead.”

Molly let out a heavy sigh, her head falling backwards against her shoulders as she stared up at her ceiling. Two years of emotions, even including a touch of guilt, didn’t just disappear with a poof. No, she still felt all those things, except that now the reason for them was standing in front of her, alive and well.

Well, sort of. He’d seen better days.

“Look, um, why don’t you finish up in there and just...come out when you’re dressed.” She turned back before walking out. “Wait, do you have clothes?”

“Picked some up on the way, yes. I assumed I couldn’t exactly count on you to have my extra stash, since you’re not in London.”

“And since you were  _ dead _ , Sherlock,” Molly reminded him with a glare.

“Right, that as well,” he conceded.

Molly walked back out to her living room, taking deep breaths and struggling to process what was even happening. Sherlock Holmes was in her bathroom just...having a wash. It was both overwhelmingly wonderful and incredibly irritating. It seemed no trouble at all for him to waltz right back into the way things always were. Even being in a completely different place! 

“Actually…”

She turned, hearing him again and seeing him poke his head out of the bedroom.

“Would you mind helping?”

Molly literally threw her hands up for a moment, though she was pretty sure she was still in shock and shouldn’t be trusted to agree or refuse anything. 

“Yeah, sure.”

* * *

Molly sat on her lovely marble bathroom counter, legs hanging down in front of where he stood as she prepared to give Sherlock a proper shave, something she hadn’t done in many years. She’d already assisted in cutting off his mass of hair, which was no small feat. She was no professional but had done enough to make him presentable. And now, there he was standing inches from her, a towel draped around his bare shoulders and his hair still damp and combed back. He was making it all the more difficult to be furious.

“I recall you said your father enjoyed a proper shave,” Sherlock stated, low and soft, exactly the way that used to send shivers through her.

It still did.

“Yep, I used to do it pretty frequently,” she agreed flatly, trying not to make eye contact.

“Mycroft was going to have his people do it, but I sincerely question their ability to be as safe and steady with a sharp instrument as...as I know you would be.”

She frowned, doing her best to keep her focus firmly set on her task. “Could you please not go back to saying things like that? There’s really no need, and besides, you’re not  supposed to be doing that sort of thing right now. You’re not supposed to be doing  _ anything _ .”

He let out a short laugh. “Not supposed to be doing anything?”

“That’s right,” she said firmly, the blade making contact with his face. “You’re  _ literally _ not supposed to be doing anything except slowly decaying.  _ Very _ slowly, considering the type of coffin your brother insisted on, apparently regardless of who or what was actually in it!”

His Adam’s apple bobbed and he cleared his throat. “It was empty actually.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” she bit back.

Silence set in except for the rhythmic scrape of the blade against his skin. She wanted to give him a bit of the silent treatment, and she tried for a while. Her emotions were in an upheaval, torn between thinking that he certainly deserved it after keeping her so deep in the dark for all this time and the sheer amount of relief and gratitude that he was still breathing. Because of all of that flying around in her brain, she couldn’t stay completely silent. What came out first stemmed from what was right in front of her eyes.

“God, Sherlock, what happened to you?”

He visibly froze, though couldn’t have been surprised. His back was covered in lash marks and torso peppered with bruises. And if anyone could detect internal damage without even doing a Y incision, he knew it was her.

“You look like you’ve just been run over. Who or what did this to you?”

Sherlock gave her a tight smile. “All part of the work.”

Ok, she thought, so he’s not going to be free with details about himself. Somehow that made her jump right to asking what she was really itching to.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

She hazarded eye contact for a moment. “The note. Your brother gave it to me after the graveside service. Said they’d found it in your flat.”

He answered with his eyes before his whispered answer. 

“Of course I meant it.”

Molly took in a deep breath. “When I told you that night that you could...that I was there for you. I meant it, Sherlock. I would have helped you with anything, anything you needed. You could have come to me. Or any time since then, to at least let me know something. I don’t know, Sherlock, it’s been two years, surely there could have been something you could have said.”

He began with a sigh. “Moriarty and his network didn’t know the truth of what I wrote in that note, and I preferred to keep it that way if at all possible. Some of my friends were already in danger and I couldn’t wipe the targets off their backs, but I could prevent that from happening to you. Of course I would have involved you if absolutely necessary, but my brother and I were able to come up with other plans.”

Molly’s hands left his face, only smooth skin where the scruff had been. 

“Rinse off,” she instructed flatly, hopping down off the counter and slipping past him. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

* * *

Molly did the best she could to calm herself with her usual routine in the kitchen, cleaning up and getting ready for the next day. But all the while of course, all she could do was run through the details of the two years that led up to this moment. Especially in the first year following his death.

The endless questioning, the research she did, the investigation she insisted on even when Lestrade confessed he couldn’t help her any further. She did practically everything aside from exhuming his body, which did of course cross her mind if it were within her power to make it happen. And in hindsight, nothing was within her power. No doubt the elder Holmes was constantly in the wings, ensuring that she never got too close or learned too much. And so, despite her digging for closure, nothing ever sat right with her. And though it was understandable that a special team was called in to handle everything with his body, due to conflict of interest, that meant zero closure and proof for her. She couldn’t simply move on and grieve normally. 

Sherlock came out a few minutes later, looking very nearly like the man she’d last seen two years before. She could barely tell any time had passed as he strolled over, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

Sherlock opened cupboards, reaching for a box of ginger nuts with a smirk. “Almost as if you were expecting me.”

Molly let out a little huff, shaking her head. “Why are you here, Sherlock? I still don’t even understand what you’re doing here!”

He smiled, as if about to reveal a thrilling secret. 

“I was hoping you’d ask me that. You see...I’m here to give you a lift back to London.”

She frowned, not knowing what to say at first. She supposed nothing should surprise her after his showing up alive like this, but somehow this really threw her.

“I’m sorry, you- what? Back to London?”

“Of course,” he confirmed happily. “After all, the official project funded by Bart’s and the brain research department of the University of Zurich ended a couple of months ago. And since you’re here partly due to Bart’s it’s logical to assume you have a job waiting for you when you return. Not sure why you’ve lingered here in the first place, but seeing as I’m headed back now to deal with a matter of national security it certainly makes sense for you to just-“

“No, I’m not going with you.”

Sherlock blinked, processing that statement.

“I...don’t understand. Why not?”

Molly crossed her arms over her middle and shrugged. “I like it here, Sherlock. I mean, look at this city. Look at this place!” She gestured around the posh flat, even nicer than her place in London. “And you should see the University. It’s cutting edge stuff and the people are amazing. Yes, the official funded project is done, but my colleagues here have been happy to keep me on board for a while. For as long as I like, actually.”

“But what about...everything else?“

The question seemed to have volumes written between the lines.

“Sherlock...you  _ died _ ,” she stated, as gently as such a thing could be said. “Not for a day, or a week, or even a month, but  _ two years. _ Did you know that it took me a whole year to even accept that you were dead? I nearly drove myself mad! It wasn’t until the first anniversary of your death and I was standing over your grave did I think that I should really and truly just let you go. And now, you’re back. And don’t misunderstand, I’m so happy about that. But how can you walk into our lives now and expect that everything is going to be just like you left it?”

“I never said I expected that,” he replied, his tone less sure.

“You didn’t really have to. You show up here to wash and change, like you used to sometimes at my flat in London. And then you tell me you can give me a lift back. It just feels like you want your life back with all the little pieces in place around you. What about what the rest of us want?”

“Somehow I envisioned everyone would be pleased to see me,” he said pointedly, though Molly couldn’t help thinking he might be trying to convince himself. 

Molly chewed her lip before taking a few steps closer.

“Do you think I’m not?” she whispered. “Do you think this isn’t what I prayed and wished for, and  _ dreamt of  _ more nights than I can count? Do you think I wouldn’t have given everything I have over these past two years to see you having a wash in my bathroom?  _ Everything I have _ .”

She could have sworn she saw his chin quiver for a split second.

“But for it to be like  _ this _ ?” Molly added with a little shake of her head. “Like it was all nothing, and then surprise! Now I’m back, so let’s get on with it.”

“Molly, I wished-“ He stopped, maybe choosing the correct words, maybe composing himself. “I wished for this as well. Being away, leaving you- all of you, it wasn’t nothing.”

She gave him a nod. “Ok. Then don’t forget we all feel the same. The memory of these past two years, and any changes that have happened in all our lives, doesn’t disappear because it all suddenly turned out to be based on a lie.”

Molly turned away, rinsing off the sponge in her kitchen sink. She didn’t realize he’d followed and was standing so close till she turned around again, jumping just a hair.

“I still have to go,” he said softly.

Molly looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah, I know. National security and all that. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll muddle through with whoever is Lestrade’s current contact at Bart’s. You don’t need me.”

She watched his jaw clench tight, but he said nothing.

“Oh and by the way,” she added. “Maybe you already know this, but I have to fly back to London in a few days anyway. I go back-“

“Every couple months to take care of business, I know,” Sherlock finished with a little smile. 

“Right. Ok well...I’m glad you’re back, really. And maybe I’ll see you while I’m in town.”

He smiled again, hesitated for a breath, then turned to exit.

For some reason, the second her door shut, Molly rushed over to her bag and fished out her wallet. With shaky fingers she reached in a back pocket and pulled out the little folded up piece of paper and carefully opened it up.

For the past two years it had been impossible to read these words without the accompanying sting. It just hurt, everything about it did. She never got to a point where she would smile at the meaning behind them, or just that he’d thought of her in his final hours. Instead, the words conjured only pain. It was too little, too late, for both of them. And there was nothing she could do about it.

She used to lay awake at night, hoping that one day she’d get to that place of healing. That place where his memory was pleasant, and she could feel at peace with how their final moments in each other’s company together had gone. And suddenly, with the turn of a corner in her own flat, that need for healing had disappeared. 

But despite that, somehow she still felt nothing but turmoil inside; all the confusion, anger, and grief that had been there two hours ago when he was still just the frustrating memory of a dead man she once loved. She wondered how long it would take for him to just be Sherlock Holmes in her mind and heart again.

Molly swiped a single tear from the top of her cheek and read the words she’d read a million times before. 

_ Molly, _

_ You do count. You’ve  _ **_always_ ** _ counted, and I’ve  _ **_always_ ** _ trusted you.  _

_ -SH _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience, guys...as if you had a choice lol. Hope you enjoy this little follow up to the angsty conclusion of part 1. I’m pretty happy with how this AU came out actually, and I feel like it’s not too unbelievable that it could have happened this way. Though of course I’ll also never stop loving the awesomeness of Molly helping him fake his death. Anyway! Enjoy part 2! :D

“Ok, thanks, I’ll definitely let you know as soon as possible,” Molly said to her supervisor, exiting the office in Bart’s. 

“Hey, Molly!” 

She turned, recognizing the voice.

“Oh, hi! Mike, how are you?”

“Really well, thanks. Nice to see you round here again. Feels like it’s been forever!”

Molly glanced around the familiar hallways. “Yeah, I know. Sort of strange. But Zurich is amazing! I’m just...really enjoying myself,” she said with a smile.

Mike Stamford smiled as well, nodding kindly. 

“Oh, um, incidentally…I’m sure you know that Sherlock…”

“Yeah, I know he’s back,” Molly confirmed as evenly as possible. “I saw him briefly. I mean, not while I’ve been in London, but- anyway! Yes, I know he’s alive and back.”

“Wonderful news, eh?” Mike said with a grin.                                  

 “The best,” Molly agreed with a tight smile. 

“Well, hope we get to see you back again soon. At least for a visit if not for good. Bart’s isn’t quite the same without you!” Mike gave her a friendly pat on the arm and then they said their farewells. 

Molly got outside to hail a cab as quickly as possible. There was something unnerving about being back at Bart’s this time. She felt almost uncomfortable being there, and yet the thought of flying back to Zurich wasn’t instantly comforting either. It was like she was stuck in the middle of two places and nothing felt right anymore. 

Trying her best to ignore the nagging confusion, she hopped in a cab and directed the driver to her flat. But before the cab even started moving, her phone chimed. 

SEEING AS YOU’RE IN TOWN, PERHAPS YOU COULD STOP BY BAKER ST. WITHIN THE NEXT HOUR IF POSSIBLE. -SH

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Molly muttered to herself.

The cab began pulling onto the road.

“Wait, um…” She paused, wondering what in the world she was thinking. “Sorry, I’m actually going to 221 Baker Street. Thanks.”

* * *

“You wanted to see me?”

Sherlock spun on his heels to face her, replying with enthusiasm. “Yes! I was wondering if you’d like to…”

Molly narrowed her eyes, considering what might be coming next.

“...Solve crimes.”

“Oh.” Yes, of course he was asking this of her. “John’s still cross with you then?”

“A bit,” he replied with a noncommittal shrug.

She crossed her arms over her middle. “So that’s the reason you’re asking me to help solve crimes?”

His gaze shifted nervously. “Not necessarily.”

Molly sighed heavily. “Look, um, I have things I need to take care of while I’m in town and I can’t just start running around with you and-“

“Molly, please.”

Her eyes met his, sincerity and genuine hope emanating from them more clearly than she cared to admit. 

She paused, looked down, then opened her mouth to shoot him down again...but didn’t.

“Fine,” Molly all but whispered, hating herself for the way his brightened expression warmed her. “Just for a few hours.”

* * *

“I’m going to need maps.”

“Maps?”

“Mm, maps. All the maps,” Sherlock confirmed while floating down the staircase.

“Fancy some chips?” he added, as if he’d said it to her a million times.

In reality of course, it quite literally stopped her in her tracks for a moment. “What?”

“There’s a fish shop just off Marylebone Rd, the owner always gives me extra portions.”

“You get him off on murder charge?” Molly questioned with a little laugh.

“No, helped him put up some shelves.”

She smiled at the brief but lighthearted moment, slowing again while nearing the last step.

“I’ve been back in town less than forty eight hours but John’s probably been punishing you since you turned up alive a week ago. This isn’t the first day you’ve been without him on the job but it’s the first day you’ve insisted on a substitute isn’t it?”

He listened to her carefully, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

“I told you earlier you weren’t being John,” he replied softly.

“I know,” Molly admitted with a little nod, joining him on the landing. “So...what was today about then?”

Sherlock drew a long breath, looking away for a moment before giving her a quick smile.

“I thought an apology was an order, for my behavior last week.”

That took her aback a little. 

“Well it’s- it’s ok. I know you weren’t trying to be unfeeling. And besides, I meant what I said. It really was what I desperately wanted. Nothing could be better than seeing you alive,” she admitted.

“Oh and congratulations,” he added.

Molly frowned before he continued on, explaining.

“You’ve done well. I didn’t say in Zurich, but I should have. I did some reading on the brain research facility you’re working with and it’s all...remarkable.”

She wanted to remain completely stoic; flash a smile, fire off a quick thanks, and then explain that’s why she’d better wrap this up so she could hurry back. But instead, she faltered. The words that left her mouth were hesitant and chaoti, just like the thoughts still in her head.

“It is, yeah. It’s nice, really nice. I love it there! The work is rewarding and fascinating, and the area is interesting as well. The flat is just lovely, which I know you saw of course. The University of Zurich was kind enough to set it all up for me. They’ve treated me so well and I barely had to lift a finger so I’m just really grateful and I just…I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this,” she finished under her breath.

“I suppose we can’t do this again, can we?” Sherlock gave her a smile, a little sad perhaps. 

Molly tried to will herself to look anywhere else but intro his penetrating gaze, which of course didn’t work. 

“I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper.” His voice rippled through her, low and soft. “I wouldn’t want you to think that my assumption of your return to London indicated that I want anything less for you. Because you do deserve happiness, wherever that may be.”

She gulped, wondering when he’d stepped closer.

“But there is one more thing.”

“Oh?” God, how much more of this sweet torture could she possibly take?

“You were wrong you know, about something you said last week, in Zurich. You said…” He paused. “ _ You don’t need me _ .”

Her lips parted but nothing had time to come out.

“Now don’t misunderstand,” he hastened to add. “I meant what I said before. I congratulate you on your latest achievement, and wish you happiness. I’d be a rubbish friend to do anything else. But this one detail deserves correcting.”

Sherlock paused again, taking one small step closer and holding her gaze with a level of intensity she’d rarely seen. 

“I realize you’ve simply never had the occasion to ask me what I need,” he whispered, low and slow. “So allow me to assure you...you are very much mistaken.”

Before she could even attempt a response, he blew her mind all over again, leaning down and gracing the skin of her cheek with a soft kiss. She took advantage of the moment, when he couldn’t see her, to shut her eyes in an expression of bliss. But of course it was over all too quickly.

“So, chips?” he asked while pulling away, not waiting for her answer before walking out through the front door.

She’d barely recovered from his words, his lips, from everything. Molly struggled to muster the mental clarity needed to respond to this equally confounding dinner invitation. Perhaps she shouldn’t go, shouldn’t get sucked further back into this world and particularly into his orbit, now that she’d completely started anew. What good would it do when she still had to go home soon?

Wherever that truly was.

Molly watched him walk confidently away as if he had no question she was following close on his heels. She hesitated just one more moment before smiling to herself and following him down the walkway.

Perhaps this would help. If nothing else, perhaps help her say goodbye.

* * *

**One Month Later**

“Who’s on?”

“What do you care?” Sherlock scoffed, strolling briskly down Bart’s hallway. “I’m usually the one talking to them.”

“I care because it’s uncomfortable to even listen to!” John hissed quietly as they passed hospital employees. “It’s uncomfortable to be in the room while you repeatedly insult their intelligence.”

“Pff, what intelligence? Besides, shouldn’t take long today. It was obviously the second cousin!” Sherlock asked with an amused chuckle as they strolled down Bart’s hallway. 

“Yeah well maybe wait till you at least fully examine the body this time before you start spouting off what you know and what they don’t. One of these days we’ll get kicked out if you’re not careful.”

Sherlock sniffed dismissively, shoving the morgue door open as he backed his way through. “We’d never even need to have this conversation if-”

“Molly!”

“Exactly! I was going to say that if Molly were here I wouldn’t have to-“

John grabbed his arm impatiently, assisting in spinning him round to face the right direction, which instantly made his eyes go wide.

“You were saying?” Molly’s familiar little voice prompted as she stepped forward, a sly smile on her lips.

Sherlock fumbled, blinking and briefly lost for words as his eyes roved cautiously over her. There she was, just like always- her little lips, great big brown eyes, swaying ponytail, her lab coat with the name tag and somewhat baggy trousers peeking out underneath. Just...Molly Hooper.

“Oh he was just saying he doesn’t need to worry about getting kicked out if you were in charge,” John happily volunteered with a little wink before embracing Molly in a hug. “Good to see you, Molly.”

“You too, John. I’m glad to be here,” she returned with a smile before glancing back at the Sherlock who was still a little dumbfounded. “So, I mean, since you won’t be getting kicked out today...probably...what do you need?”

Sherlock’s lips ticked up just slightly at those words as he held Molly’s sparkling gaze. He was vaguely aware that John stood nearby looking back and forth at him and Molly, probably trying to discern exactly what was happening. Sherlock couldn’t blame him. He supposed he was trying to do the same thing, maybe for a very long time. He hadn’t quite done it yet, hadn’t quite solved it. Maybe someday…

“Lestrade called earlier. I’ll just get the body out,” Molly finally said with another little smile at both of them as she walked over to the metal doors on the wall.

“So you’re staying then?” John asked as they followed her.

“I am,” she confirmed, glancing briefly at Sherlock as she added, “I just realized that maybe there was more here for me than I thought there was before. Maybe I’m not quite done with London. Maybe I don’t want to be.”

John chuckled lightly. “I imagine  _ London _ is pleased to have you back. Wouldn’t you say, Sherlock?” He gave Sherlock a gentle nudge with his elbow.

“Yes.” Sherlock finally found his voice again, clearing his throat and giving her a genuine smile. “Yes, I think so too.”

“Well then,” Molly replied, a slight blush warming her cheeks as she tugged on the bulky metal handle of the door, matching and returning his smile. “Time to get back to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, peeps, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! And thank you to Lexie for brainstorming and beta reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Do you not want this to be the end? Oh good, cuz it’s not! :) Part 2 will be coming soon.  
> Thanks for another large amount of help, Lexie! ;)


End file.
